It’s hot as fuck and my birthday cake has a missile launcher on it.

Now that I’m a working stiff it seems like the days drag and the weeks fly by. I can’t believe that it’s already August. What I can’t believe even more than that is that I now live in a place where there are actually seasons. In Florida the seasons go as such:

  • Winter: “Jesus fuck, it’s cold outside!” …52 degrees.
  • Spring: “Hey, it’s still pretty chilly, I think I’ll wear a sweater today” and by 11 a.m. you’re sweating and/or working with some righteous B.O.
  • Summer: Pit stains and ball sweat.
  • Fall: Certainly nothing “crisp” about fall in Florida. Picture the exact opposite of that. Continue reading